Cicero
by Nahkriin
Summary: Cicero's past is brought to light; his experience with the Brotherhood in Cyrodil, and the tragedies that left him a tortured soul with an uncertain identity, clinging to the hope of hearing the Night Mother's voice.


**Disclaimer**

I don't own Skyrim or TES series, etcetera etcetera. I just play the #!$ out of them is all. No copyright infringement intended, all hail Todd Howard and the crew at Bethesda.

**Author's Note**

This story will contain some major **spoilers **and plot details for The Dark Brotherhood questline in Skyrim. So…you've been warned. I'll try my best to see this story through but I can't make any promises in good faith, haha. I've started multiple fics in the past and never got around to finishing any of 'em. That being said, I think Cicero is one of the most interesting characters in Skyrim and has a backstory that would be fun to toy with, so I decided to give it a shot. Expect a pretty non-linear, spastic pace. Cicero's rather unstable so I want to reflect that growth and aspect of his character in this story, so don't expect something straight-forward. Fic will likely remain rated T, but it will most likely be pretty dark. Yurp. Enjoy!

_**Cicero**_

Silence.

There was so very much of it, blanketing me, consuming me, gnawing at me. It wouldn't leave me be.

My thoughts, scattered, etching blank nothings into the whites of my eyes yet burning my vision oh how it _burned _but it felt so good! What did I see, you ask? I saw truth! But a lie, was it? No no _no, _a thousand times no, none of it was real.

All an illusion. Yes! That was it, must be it. If it wasn't…what was I to do?

Cold now married the silence and it seemed that in an annoying instant, the bitter nature of tangibility was returned to me. I sputtered as dots blurred my vision, replacing the nothings that had previously blocked my sight. Head spinning, round and round, the world as I left it painting itself once more over the silly canvas of my eyes. What was it? What had I taken…?

Something good, yes, something that had…_changed _the way I saw what I saw, heard what I heard, felt what I felt. A narcotic! Laughter erupted from my mouth despite myself, the sound bellowing, foreign and uniquely hilarious to my own ears. Skooma! That I recalled seemed so bizarre! Here I was, an idiot in the snow, laughing because I suddenly remembered; I'm high off Skooma! _Idiot!_

All of a sudden, all at once, there was anger. A deep, aching anger, like a hunger in my stomach that gnawed but wouldn't accept a meal. A hollow, ringing anger, senseless, perhaps, aimless, but burning nonetheless. My sense of _me _was returning, slowly, and in a sad, sad instant, I was struck once again by my desire to leave myself.

Knowledge began to push aside the euphoria and reality set in once again. The pain of the real. I felt tears brimming within my eyes as the cold wetness of my back began to ache. Here I lay in the snow behind my empty, empty home, here in Bruma, looking up at the infinite gray of the sky as the flakes of white descended, teasing my senses, assaulting them. I bit back all the memory surging to the surface, all that which threatened to boil over and it was all just _too much _that I felt my throat strain as the tears came. Ignoring my sincerest desire that they stay hidden, that the weakness remain within, it all came out, as I realized that my life was truly over. Yes. Over.

I shifted slightly to my right and felt the dull, far-away sensation of pain, not yet whole, not yet "real", as my empty Skooma bottle was shattered under my weight in my pocket, glass cutting into my leg. I felt a twinge of warmth as blood trickled down from the cut, a small stain growing from the inside of my pants leg.

"Oh. Right." I chuckled weakly at the hoarse, croaking sound of my grief-stricken voice, my words drifting up and falling right back down, emptied of meaning. Simple, useless words. I could still smell mother's blood. Could still feel the fear that nested deep in my belly as I saw father looming over the beautiful, dead body of my sweet, sweet mother. I could still hear the cruelty in his voice as he turned to face me, shock and anger twisting his face, and the sheer nothing I felt as he had walked on by me and out into the snow, leaving me and mother alone.

I had fallen to my knees and it felt as though my eyes would burst from my skull, and I wish they had, because seeing what I saw had left me like _this. _I weakly rose my fist into the air, hovering pathetically a few feet above the snow-caked earth, and let it drop against the padded white, as if some inconsequential protest. It was unfair. So very, very unfair.

How long had it been? Not long? Days? Time was useless, meaningless now that mother was gone. Now that I was alone in this world. Utterly alone. Lonely and completely broke. Buying enough Skooma to vanquish the here-and-now had cost me. Now I was just another lowly beggar, a junkie, young and cast aside…but…

_No. No!_

I felt my face, cold and fatigued, twist with a painful, howling fury that I had never thought possible. I rose to my feet, steady as if to spite the toll the cold and drugs had taken on my body, and began walking. Aimless. The suffering, the anguish, the pity all dissolved into something much darker, much more encompassing. Something in my chest, surely not my heart, for I was certain it had been snuffed out, beat with a resounding, intoxicating purpose. My breath came out in ragged puffs, sharply penetrating the cold, clear air. I could see the people around me cast piteous looks my way, but it was though a light - no, something dark - guided me along this path, as I ventured, unknowing of where I was headed. Moments passed and then I stopped at the gates of Castle Bruma. The blur that had been my senses had blossomed into cold, calculating clarity. With a feigned air of politeness I charmed my way past the guard and into the lavish interior of the castle. Ignoring the many guards, the high-and-mighty leaders of society, and all of the wealth that had done _nothing _to aid me in my time of need, I made my way to the dungeon.

My heartbeat was now a booming drum in my ears, but I felt calm. As I persuaded the one in charge of prisoners to allow me a visit, I felt calm. Walking into the dimly lit chambers, iron bars caging a variety of human filth, I felt calm. The guard who led me down to the cell I stood before said something to me, gave me a concerned look, then took his leave, and I calmly looked into my father's eyes, separated by cold iron but close enough to smell the death that lingered over him.

How pitiful he appeared now. Something akin to fear bloomed within his eyes as he stared at me, shuddering. "C-Cicero!" He croaked, weakly, and I couldn't help but cringe at the sound of my name on his tongue. "I…I…" He stuttered, and I remained silent, cold, expressionless. Simply staring at the beast before me, waiting. "Listen." A sigh. "You need to understand it from my point of view…what happened was…" A stutter. Pathetic. "Well, your mother hadn't been faithful, you see…I had been drinking, you know how these things go, I…well, I k-know it's not fair to you, not fair at all, but…please, you know me, my son, I love you dearly, and if you could find any place in your heart for forgiveness…" A pleading look, lips trembling. I remained as I had been; staring into his eyes, through them, and past him.

Another moment of silence, then the fool opened his mouth. "Cicero…please, there's a hollowed-out rock near our house…I…I have some money there, if you could p-please get it, bail me out, I'll…I'll make this right, I sw-"

A blur of motion as I pulled out the broken glass, my hand moving from my pocket to father's throat in an instant that seemed so slow yet so very quick all at once. The terror exploding in his eyes and across his face before the sickening sound of flesh ripped open; part of me, inside, panicked, but a darker, deeper part of me watched with a cold sense of justice as the life drained from the murdering beast. In a haze, I felt hands garbed in armor grip me from behind, pulling me away from the geyser of blood bursting forth from father's neck as he reeled back, taking a long time to die, it seemed. I was pulled from the carnage of death as yells echoed behind me, guards shouting for someone to come quickly, though it would do no good. I had done them a favor. I had put the beast down.

After that, silence. Silence as I felt the shackles clamp around my wrists, silence as the guards questioned me. Silence as, some time later, I was put into the very same cell wherein father had met with death, silence as I could still smell the blood, cleaned from the ground but not quite gone.

Some time later, I was met with the silence of sleep.

"**Brother."**

Silence as I opened my eyes to a place darker than I had been, silence as I met with the gaze of a man, clad in a cloak as dark as the night itself, silence as emptiness became something intimate, something akin to a home.

"**Welcome to the family." **


End file.
